


Guilty Pleasure

by ArtemisSilver478



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh the Abridged Series, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Cheating, Child Abuse, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Murder, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-28 08:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17179112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisSilver478/pseuds/ArtemisSilver478
Summary: There is no immediate desire to settle down, but when he realizes he's stuck in an okay lifestyle, Bakura doesn't quite enjoy the idea of things being the way they are for the rest of his life. He wants more.And then there's Marik- the thrill that Bakura feels drawn to, propelling him to do things he knows he shouldn't want to do, and feel things he shouldn't want to feel.Marik actually isn't sure what he's feeling, but he loves it. It's new, it's exciting, it's powerful- but it's dangerous, and he still finds himself wanting more, although he doesn't dare to let himself act on it.It's human nature to want more. To spend your time how you want it, not to waste it on the mediocre. As long as they're happy, it shouldn't matter the consequences.But when the side effects of their bliss are disastrous, they can't help but feel a little...guilty.





	1. Feelings He Shouldn't Have

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I have originally posted on my Wattpad account. This work is mine, I own the plot. I do not own the characters, those belong to Kazuki Takahashi, and many themes, personas, and references belong to/are inspired by LittleKuriboh.

It wasn't Bakura's intention to stay up too late. Although he didn't mind watching the sun rise, he enjoyed a good eight hours of sleep. That's why he was trying to get home as quickly as he could, sipping a can of fizzy drink.

He figured it wouldn't take too long to get there. From some mediocre job downtown, and all the way to his apartment along the outskirts, it wasn't as far a walk as he thought. He'd rather have a cab, but that could risk a possible conversation with a chatty stranger he didn't give a flying fuck about. So walking it was.

It was a pretty good idea, at the start. Good cardio. A view of the city lights. Pick-pocketing opportunities. The gentle breeze through his hair. Definitely a good way to de-stress after an eventful day.

He'd kept his head down and sipped his fizzy drink, watching for passers by who weren't careful enough—either in the security of their belongings or those who didn't see him coming their way. 

The city was awake at this time of night, so blending in wasn't an issue. Pedestrians crossed and shoppers shopped and people were busy being people. Cars were lined against curbs and traffic jammed the streets. Cabs stayed still and trucks remained dormant. Everyone beeped at each other like a bloody idiot, since it was unknown to them that pedestrians existed and that they have the right of way.

He crumbled his can and tossed it to free his hand from the burden of being outside his pocket. Bakura pulled his coat to himself and huffed, seeing his exhale in front of his face. It was cold and the puddles weren't ice. The rain from earlier in the day remained liquified because it seemed that the world wanted to piss Bakura off.

To prove that point, a motorcycle determined to avoid traffic made a sharp turn in a puddle, angling itself to completely drench him in its contents.

"Bloody—!" Bakura had had it. "You—! Bloody imbecile! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

The biker's face wasn't too identifiable through their goggles and helmet, but they grit their teeth and frowned, then decided to book it and skedaddle. It was a hit and run— or a drench and run, in this case.

"Hey—!" And Bakura was splashed again.

He grumbled and began to walk faster, keeping his eyes on the motorcycle that was obviously in a hurry to get somewhere.  
"Where the hell are they going?" He squinted, catching glimpse of them entering an alleyway of some sort. He decided to follow closely and quietly.

Creeping up to the wall, he peered around to see that the bike had finally stopped, and the biker was leaning against the wall. Their helmet had come off and they ran a hand through their blonde hair. They started to chug down some water before they kept going. Poor choice, actually. An alleyway wasn't the safest place to stop for someone so...pretty.

And Bakura didn't think it was possible, but it was. Even under the streetlight, their skin seemed to glisten and their facial structure was almost as if it were sculpted by a god. Or several, depending on your belief of choice. Not to mention, their shirt ended above the naval, revealing his toned abs. Bakura knew that ass was male.

He was so mesmerized, he hadn't begun to think that that kind of clothing was not suited for this kind of weather.

He gulped. That was a human person?

"Mmm," he moaned with his lip closed. Then he knit his brows and thought, What the actual hell?  
He couldn't be thinking things like that. He shouldn't be thinking things like that.

Part of him wanted to approach him with some kind of pick up line or conversation starter, the part that completely forgot he was angry at this nice piece of ass. The other part, mainly derived from his drenched jacket, wanted to cuss him out.

He didn't have much time to figure out what he should do before this hottie decided to hop back on and rev the engine. The motorcycle seemed like it didn't know the word "slow", mainly because it decided to zip for the exit.

Bakura darted in front of it, and the screeeeeech! that followed seemed to echo through the whole city as the biker braked and forced the motorcycle to turn at a 90° angle so he wouldn't ram right into him.

He took off his goggles, scowling at Bakura. "You almost got us both killed, jackass!"

Bakura squinted at him, deciding not to concern himself with the nasally sound his voice made, then gestured to his soaked jacket.

Realization sunk in and the biker bit his lip. "Shit..."

"'Shit' is right."

"Look, I'm sorry. I've got somewhere to be, okay? Just—"  
He tried moving through from the left, but Bakura simply sidestepped in front of him.  
"I didn't mean to splash you. Okay? There you go. There's your apology."

"That's not an apology."

"Fine!" He threw his hands up. "I'm sorry! Now move over!"

Bakura sneered. "I think I'll need a little more than that."

"No point in being so high maintenance if I could just run you over, is there? I have to go, so it better be quick."

Feisty. I could dig that in a man.  
Bakura quickly sucked in a breath, knowing full well that he needed to stop thinking these thoughts.

He wasn't sure why he initiated a conversation, much less what he wanted to get from it. Scratch that— he knew what he wanted, but he couldn't have it, so he'd better not continue. Now what? He'd already started talking and he couldn't back away from it now.

"Give me a ride home." And get me out of this situation as quickly as possible.

The biker nodded his head. "Okay. Okay, fine. Where do you live?"

"It's—erm—further uptown." Bakura gestured a certain direction. "It's an apartment complex just outside the city."

It was the direct opposite of where the biker needed to be, but he sighed and cocked his head to the side, offering the space behind him for Bakura to get on.

So he climbed on, not quite sure what exactly he was doing. He placed his feet where the biker's were. He adjusted himself as comfortably as he could do so.

"You might want to hang on."

"Hang onto what?"

The biker just grinned and revved the engine, taking off into the night as fast as he could go.

Bakura spasmed and suddenly clung to him from behind, smacked in the face by his locks of hair whipping in the wind. The rest of city seemed to blur out in lights that zipped past them, the world grew fuzzy and sounds were muffled, Bakura couldn't even hear himself praying for this God-forsaken nightmare to end.

His prayers were (surprisingly) answered when they reached a stoplight. He refused to look up and kept his face buried in the biker's back.

"My name is Marik." He said, looking down to see Bakura's arms latched around his torso.

"I don't care."

Marik scoffed but his smile remained the same. "Are you aware that you are clinging to me from behind? It's kind of like cuddling. Are you giving me a hug?"

"I'm trying not to die, that's what I'm doing!"

"What's that?! I can't hear you over the sound of how much you're cuddling me right now!"

Bakura looked up and over his shoulder to Marik's smug grin. "Cuddling doesn't make sounds, you bloody idiot! And I'm not wearing a helmet, so sod off!"

"You should've thought about that before asking for a ride!" Marik decided to let go of the handles when he took off again, letting his arms up as Bakura screamed and tried to hang on, hoping that Marik still knew what he was doing because this blasted, cursed, stupid, bloody motorcycle ride would be stuck in his nightmares forever. If he didn't die, first.

Marik's laughter purely mocked Bakura, and he hated it with a burning passion. He's a dick! He thought, along with, I think I'm gonna be sick...  
(And then he thought about how that rhymed.)

He felt Marik's hand over his own when he took the handles again, which alleviated Bakura's fears by a small percentage, but a percentage nonetheless.

"I still need directions to your place," he said, driving slower until he stopped to pull over. Glancing over his shoulder, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Please don't throw up on me."

He was met with Bakura's glare and a threat through gritted teeth. "Then. Drive. Slower."

"If you don't want me to drive you, then get off!"

Bakura just clung tightly and pressed his forehead in between Marik's shoulder blades. He lifted a weak hand to point forward. "Keep going that way. I'll let you know when we're closer."

Marik frowned but obeyed, taking off in that direction at a slower pace. He decided to keep up a conversation with a complete stranger that was completely latched onto him from behind, possibly to make him less of a stranger.

"I don't believe I heard your name."

"That'sbecauseIdidn'tsayit..." he grumbled, trying not to think of how nauseous he felt.

"WHAT?!"

So he raised his voice by a little. "That's because I didn't say it."

"WHAT?!"

"IT'S BAKURA."

"Oh. OKAY!" Marik stuck out his lower lip. "Sheesh, Fluffy, you don't have to shout at me..."

He wheezed a bit when Bakura's grip went from clingy to suffocating. "What the hell did you just call me, you ass clown?"

"Bakura sounds like a grumpy name," Marik didn't find him all that intimidating. If he wanted Fluffy gone, all he had to do was lurch back and pop a wheelie. "Are you grumpy?"

Bakura just grumbled in response.

"I'll take that as a yes."  
He gave him a nudge and gestured to the upcoming intersection. "Where am I going?"

"That way." He pointed to the right. "The building will be on the left in a couple miles."

Their short lived adventure was already ending and Marik still had so many questions. Instead of Who pissed in your cereal this morning? he asked, "Are you British?"

"What?"

"You have an accent. Is it British?"

"There are so many other ways you could've asked that question."

Marik laughed. "Don't tell me you're pissed because I assumed your cultural background."

"I'm pissed because I have a headache, but that's part of it."

"You haven't answered my question, though."

Bakura groaned. "Yes, I'm British. Happy?"

"Yes, actually. I've never met anyone from Europe."

"You can't just assume that I'm from Europe because of this accent."

"I'm not stupid, Bakura." Marik snickered. "I understand the concept of an accent."  
Bakura didn't say anything, so Marik huffed. "You can ask me something you define as 'racist', then. Let's make it 'even'."

"No."

"You're not curious about my ethnicity?"

Scoffing, he looked up. The pace was enough for him to feel like his stomach wasn't lodged in his throat anymore. "It doesn't haunt my waking days, if that's what you mean. You're obviously..." and he was stumped.  
"...Indian."

Marik's smug grin shone brightly on his dark-skinned face. "Is that your final answer?"

"...Persian."

"You're getting warmer."

"No...its..." Bakura snapped his fingers to think of something. "...Arabic?"

"Egyptian."

"Oh. Damn."

Marik sneered. "It's human nature to assume, so don't get so tightly wound about it." He patted Bakura's grumpy little head.

This was a topic Bakura would have liked to continue on to beat his smug yet pretty face, but they'd finally gotten to the apartment complex.

"This is it." He stated, letting Marik drive up to the front for him to get off.

Bakura was somewhat upset that it was over so quickly. A neat little conversation was being worked up; it's like leaving before the kettle was off the stove—  
Wow. I am really British, aren't I?

"Thanks for the ride." He said after a few seconds.

"You're welcome. Now shoo." Marik flicked his hand at the air towards the door. He groaned and sarcastically said, "That's ancient Egyptian for 'let go'."

"Oh. Right." And he unlatched himself, feeling a little colder afterwards. Then he got off and looked at him before he left. "I..." he wish he could pinpoint what he wanted to get across but all he spewed was, "...I wouldn't mind running into you again."

Marik laughed and revved the engine for the third time. "If you plan on throwing yourself in front of my motorcycle again, let's hope that I don't run in to you." With that final statement, smiling to himself because he felt so clever, he sped off with another screech! into the night.

***

Bakura's trip up the elevator involved a lot of self hatred. He hated many things: hugs with strangers that last longer than seven seconds, artichoke hearts, wearing jeans in bed, wearing socks in bed, ducks (man, does he hate ducks), people pronouncing "ask" like "axe", hotel showers, etc. He just recently added to the list; motorcycle rides that are fast as hell.

Most of his hatred didn't usually go towards himself, but he couldn't help it. He kinda wished he'd gotten Marik's number or something. Maybe he should've asked for an apology drink instead. He didn't know.

It was so short of a ride but his attitude had managed to shift so quickly, it hadn't been evident to anyone but himself.

He'd already grown accustomed to Marik's back. It was warm and muscly— it was a back. There was nothing interesting about it, so the desire to cling to it again was unusual. Maybe because it felt safer to hang onto it?

Bakura's face twisted into its famous scowl. "I wasn't bloody cuddling you..."  
But his cheeks were flushed. So that was a thing.

At least in the elevator, he was alone to think about this. Marik was incredibly hot, he'll admit, but it was what he wanted to do with Marik that made him feel like actual human scum. It pleased him to think of it, but it wasn't supported by an ounce of his morality. He couldn't possibly say the truth about his feelings, because he shouldn't be feeling like this.

The elevator doors opened and Bakura stepped out and walked toward a door while taking off his coat.

Before entering, he took a deep breath and shook everything off. He had a plan: convince himself that Marik was just a stranger. A plain faced, okay looking stranger. He did not have a gorgeous face and a sexy body. He did not feel good in Bakura's arms. Bakura was not attracted to him in any way, shape, or form.

Then he would go in and everything would be fine.

So he unlocked the door and went inside, kicking off his shoes and sighing loudly. He closed the door again, and then he heard a gasp from somewhere else in the apartment.

He braced himself.

There was some scuffling noises from the bedroom as some cardboard boxes were hurriedly pushed aside as the mess would be left unattended. A thud here and there indicated a fit of some sort as someone tried their best to reach the door without a fuss.

The door was opened quickly and Ryou scurried out with bags under his eyes and his bun all messy, although he was looking somewhat pleased.

"You're home!" He said walking toward him with open arms. He wrapped them around him in a ten second hug— Ryou had been the one to measure how long a hug would last before Bakura would get all fussy, and since he was closer to Bakura than most, he got an extra three.

Bakura sighed and leaned in, saying into his hair, "Hey."

After the hug finished, Ryou pulled away and frowned. "You're all wet." 

"Oh." He looked back down at his jacket, darker in some spots and cold all around. His hair had dried a little, but it was still damp. "It was raining today."

But he knew Ryou was smarter than that; this was more recent. The rain stopped sometime in the evening, and by this point it was past everyone's bedtime.

Ryou simply laughed. "I'd forgotten. I feared you might've floated away."

It was a funny thought, but all Bakura managed to do was smile a little bit. "You worry over the most stupid things."

Ryou shrugged because it was true.

He deserved some truth, right? There was no reason for Bakura to be scared to say something. Nothing happened. He should be fine.

"I was just splashed by some bloke in his motorcycle, is all."

"You didn't cuss him out, did you?"

"I wanted to, believe me. But I didn't. He even offered me a ride home afterwards."

Ryou let out a sigh of relief. "That was very nice of him. Did you say thank you?"

Bakura groaned. "Yes, I did."

"Good."

Now he was thinking about Marik again. The way his body felt against his own, the warmth of his hold, the way his hand fit over his own—

A pair of soft hands began to feel his face. "Are you alright?" Ryou asked him with concern. "You feel hot."

"I'm fine, I just..." he really hoped nothing else was evident for what he was thinking about.  
Bakura asked, dying to change the subject, "Had I left you to all the unpacking?"

"No, I've still got to finish some more boxes. I swear, my mum made me pack half of the house..." he looked over his shoulder at the kitchen and let out a tired sigh. "I did fill the cupboards, though."

"That's good."

Ryou gave him a look as though he knew. Bakura knew Ryou couldn't read minds or anything, but there was still the irrational fear that Ryou had seen it or had heard about it from someone. But neither of them really knew anyone around here, so it's not like he could have.

But that didn't calm him down at all. The ride had shaken him up for sure, but this new fear was starting to creep up on him and he felt achy.

"Bakura, you look ill. Is everything alright?"

He exhaled slowly and nodded, moving toward the living room and the sofa. "I think I just want to sit down for a minute."

"I could make us some tea, and we'll finish unpacking tomorrow." Ryou kissed his cheek and smiled at him.

Ryou scurried to the kitchen and began to get out the tea bags. Bakura yelled out to him, "No sugar!"

"I know what to do." He said back.


	2. Ishtar Household

Marik pulled up to the driveway of his home. Being slower would make it more quiet but that wasn't going to fix anything. He parked and practically jumped off of his motorcycle and raced for the door inside from the garage. He knocked in a fixed pattern.

The door opened and Marik was grabbed by the wrist and yanked inside without a word.

Odion slammed the door behind them and shoved a cold slice of pizza into Marik's mouth. "You're late!" He spoke in half a whisper, half a yell.

Marik couldn't talk when his mouth was full about how absolutely dumb this was, really. He was late by two minutes, but Odion was already shoving him from the kitchen and into the hallway where Marik could quickly scarf down his pizza on the way to his room.

He was already nibbling on the crust when Odion took off his jacket for him and raced from the room. Marik still rolled his eyes but decided it was probably best that he just hurry as changed into his pajama pants, tossing his clothes into the closet along with his shoes. Then he shut the door and finished his pizza crust and zipped for the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Ishizu had caught him in the hallway. "Marik, I swear to Ra, you are going to hurt yourself if you keep running—"

"Dad gets home in less than five minutes! Like hell am I going to be slow!"

She sighed and rubbed her temples while Marik fumbled for his toothbrush. He had just gotten the toothpaste in hand when a knock on the door followed.

Odion returned in a matter of seconds, stopping Marik's dental hygiene routine to get him to bed. They all quickly said good night and hid in their rooms, shutting their doors and crawling into their beds to pretend to be asleep.

In his bed, Marik hid beneath the covers and turned on his phone light for one last matter to attend to. He used a hand mirror and his makeup removal wipes that he always hid under his pillows to wipe off all that he usually caked on at six o clock every morning. No way was he going to sleep with it on.

When he was content, he turned off the light and lied down on his side to face the wall, shutting his eyes and adjusting his breathing to be asleep— or to at least pretend.

...think of something to doze off to...

He could almost feel his hair in the wind as he rode on his bike. It was his favorite thing, and he probably wouldn't get tired of it. The ground becoming smooth, the feeling of being free...

Feeling. Arms that feel his waist. Someone clinging tightly from behind, trusting that he won't fail.

Marik didn't think he'd be smiling, but he couldn't help it. It was like a cat and a vacuum cleaner— Bakura seemed to hate that motorcycle but his fear was too funny.

He stopped smiling when the door opened, it's creak loud and the light of the hallway touched the wall. Marik's face was hidden in the shadows but he still felt eyes peering down at him. It was another sense, he knew someone stood at his bedside to check if he was asleep. They leaned over, towering over him and he struggled not to move, and he didn't dare open his eyes for a second.

He felt two hands grab him by his back and his shoulder, and a voice that yelled,

"BOO!"

Marik jolted upward and yelled. When he turned, all he saw was Melvin laughing like a stupid friggin stupid face. He hit him on the arm as hard as he could but Melvin wasn't even phased.

"Oh, man...!" Melvin snickered. "It was like a jack in the box! Or like, POP!" And he scared Marik again, which made him laugh harder and find difficulty in saying, "...goes...the weasel...!"

"Stop yelling, you rotten potato! You're going to get us all in trouble!"

Melvin decided not to comment on Marik's choice of insult, but he would certainly try to bring it up later. "Dad's not here yet, calm down. I just came in to ask where all of the pizza went."

"Why should I know? I got here like, five minutes ago." He crossed his arms and huffed. "It's not like I'd tell you where it is, anyways. Especially not after you laughed at me..."

"You know, sometimes I feel as if you like to watch me suffer." Melvin's laughter died out too quickly for comfort. He snagged one of Marik's pillows and glanced at it, then at him, as if he was debating whether he would suffocate him.   
He frowned, shrugged, and then chucked the pillow at his face. "You're no fun."

Marik scoffed, but considering the fact that he stood no chance, he didn't say anything. So Melvin stuck his tongue out at him before leaving the room.

He huffed and turned back onto his side, crawling under his sheets while muttering random swears, particularly at Melvin.

He was such an asshole, and no one ever really knew why. Melvin was pent up in his room all of the time, so it's not like he was trying to spend time with the family, or whatever the frig regular siblings did.

Then again, Melvin often got into trouble, and his room was his punishment. Anything could be trouble in the Ishtar household, so Melvin wasn't given any mercy. Marik supposed he simply made friends with his little cage.

Marik couldn't really pinpoint a time when he wasn't told to keep away from him.

He lay flat on his back and gazed up at the ceiling. Wonder, exhaustion, and fear's aftertaste were gaining on him, pulling him into sleep.

***

Marik woke up to the sound of some form of a leather belt swinging downward and hitting something— most likely someone's skin.

He flinched at the thought and at the restrained grunt that came with it.

A stern voice spoke without a hint of remorse, the sound carrying through the vents of the basement.  
"This is happening because of your actions. Do not disobey the rules of this house and expect to get away with it."

It seemed that their dear father came home last night later than expected, and Melvin must have been caught being up past bedtime.

In the morning air, the warm sunlight, and the comfort of his bed all presented Marik with something positive from the morning.

He still pulled his knees to his chest and bit the inside of his cheek, cowering slightly beneath his blanket.

As long as he was in line, he shouldn't have to worry.

But he did.


	3. Grabbing Lunch

The plan was to look for work. Ryou was dead set on trying out some bookshop that was just a couple blocks away, and Bakura didn't care what it is he found, so long as it made money and kept his dignity alive.

Bakura and Ryou walked down the street with hats and light jackets to keep them cozy enough. Although the sun was warm, the air was cold enough to turn their noses pink.

Ryou kept glancing down at Bakura's hand. He knew that Bakura didn't enjoy public affection as much as he'd like him to. He respected that.

Bakura, although his gaze was kept ahead, noticed he had eyes on him. He looked to see Ryou's pleading smile, and groaned. He held out his hand for Ryou to take it.

"I'm not gonna hold your hand if you don't want me to." Ryou spoke in defiance.

"Then why'd you make that face?"

Ryou avoided the question. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Take my hand, Ryou." He gave half a shrug. "It's not forever."

It's not? Ryou looked up at him again. Boy, he was going to be overthinking the hell out of this one.   
But he took his hand anyway with a, "Thank yoooouuuuu..." to follow.

His hand is sweaty. Bakura thought.  
Lifting up his other arm, he pointed to a building up the street. "Is that it?"

Ryou nodded with an apparent smile. "I should think so. It never occurred to me how close we are to it." He glanced over his shoulder and pursed his lips. "If only I can remember where home was..."

"I can get us back if we need to," he let Ryou squeeze his hand. "let's just get there first. Then we can grab lunch and head back."

"You've got the whole thing planned out?"

"It's a basic mental to do list, no need to pulverize me."

"I'm not pulverizing you!" Ryou chuckled as they approached. "I was going to point out that you didn't leave a space on the list for yourself. What about you?"

"I say we can take care of your want first." He opened the door for him, freeing himself from Ryou's sweaty palm. "After you."

"Why, thank you." He beamed, and Bakura shuffled in after him.

The shop was a very comforting place. Not too hot, not too cold. A little coffee shop was right in the corner, so the smell of good coffee brewing and the smell of old books was a nice sensation for the nose.

Ryou looked back at Bakura, who glanced around at the lack of customers at this time of day.   
"I'm headed to the desk." Ryou told him. "Do I look okay?"

"You look fine." Then he looked back over at the coffee. "I'm going to get a coffee. Want one?"

"You know the answer, Kura. It'll be cold by the time I'm in the mood to try a sip."

"Suit yourself."

Ryou crossed his fingers with a grin, holding his resume in his hands. "Wish me luck!" And kissed   
Bakura quickly on the cheek before he took off for the desk.

Bakura turned and walked the other way, ordered a coffee, and sat down at a small table while he waited.

So far, his head felt clearer than it had yesterday. Everything around him settled and fizzed out, there was nothing to stress himself about. Everything was becoming plain and simple. It should be able to stay that way for a while.

Finally his coffee was ready and he sat down, sipping it occasionally as it was still too hot. It was pretty good— he hoped Ryou would get the job because, not only did the environment suit him very well, he could also bring a coffee home for him. He knew that Ryou wouldn't object; he was too sweet.

He was considering getting a book to read while he waited, until he heard tapping on the glass. Bakura looked over, wondering who the hell that could've been. No one else was there to receive the invitation to give someone attention, except for employees and the guy making good coffee.

Bakura's heart dropped and lodged itself next to his stomach as he saw Marik smiling all smug, pressing his face against the glass.

Oh shit.

What was he supposed to do? If he pretended he didn't see him, he would have run the risk of Marik coming in and grabbing his attention, and Ryou's.

He walked out of the shop with his coffee in hand, glancing over at the desk. Neither Ryou nor the lady who worked there were present, which would hopefully buy time for Bakura to get Marik the hell out of here.

When he stepped out into the cold air, he calmed himself by thinking: Nothing bad happened between Marik and me, so I've got nothing to hide.

That was, of course, what he originally thought. When he approached Marik, he had to avoid looking at his eyes.

He looked different in daylight— not particularly better, but clearer. Now he was wearing a jacket that was better suited for the weather, and hopefully he wasn't wearing that shirt that opened up to his midriff.

Bakura said nothing and sipped his coffee, glaring at him.

Marik crossed his arms and smiled.

It was too quiet and Bakura didn't know when Ryou would get back, so he spoke first.   
"What do you want?"

"Nothing in particular."

He huffed. "Should I have ignored you then?"

Marik shook his head. "No. Definitely not."

"Then what the hell am I out here for?"

"Yesterday you said that you wouldn't mind seeing me again." He looked Bakura up and down, then he squinted and asked, "That was you, right?"

"I suppose I did say that, but..." Not while my boyfriend is in enough proximity to spot the fact that I am actually wondering if you top or bottom. "...I'm busy. Go away."

"Are you kidding me? I gave you a ride, you screamed. I thought we had a connection."

Bakura winced.

"What?"

"There are many other ways you could phrase that."

"What are you talking about?" Marik shifted his weight to one leg. "That's what happened. I gave you a—"

"You don't need to bloody repeat it!"

Marik snorted. "You need to tone down the 'tude, mister."

Bakura stared at him in disbelief.

"What?" When he didn't get his answer, he only repeated. "WHAT?"

"...I can't believe you just called it ''tude'."

"It's short for 'attitude', you fool—!" He blinked once and stared him down. "You look like you're about to piss yourself."

"I am not!"

Marik sneered. "Are you afraid of me?"

"I find more fear in a piece of lint."

"Is it the motorcycle?" He gasped and smiled ever so slightly. "You wanna go again? I'll get us lunch."

Bakura's face had seemed greener from the remark, although he was mainly concerned with whether or not Marik had just asked him out. He wished he could say that a friendly gesture was all he wanted it to be.

"I'll have to decline." He sighed, glancing through the window to check if Ryou was finished yet. "Like I said, I'm busy."

"Okay, okay, I get it. You don't like motorcycles. We can just walk."

"It's not about transportation, I'm actually busy."

"You were sitting down at a table, alone, drinking coffee. You weren't even reading a book! What the hell makes that busy?"

"I—" Bakura clenched his fists, looking directly at Marik's smug little face. Would he dare tell him the reason? Would the words I have a boyfriend end all possible futures with Marik in it?   
And furthermore, why the hell did he care? He met Marik in a downtown alleyway with the intention to probably take his motorcycle and cram it right down his throat. Am I that shallow? Do I really want him here because he's insanely attractive?   
"I..."

Marik was waiting for his answer.

"...it's none of your business."

"Well, it doesn't have to be today." His persistence was suffocating. "My schedule's pretty open for lunch."

"Marik, I—"

"Oh, hey! You remembered my name!"

"You almost killed me last night. I'm not forgetting you anytime soon."

"I didn't try to kill you, Bakura. Stop being so dramatic." Marik smiled all giddily. "See? Even I remembered."

Bakura glanced aside again, spotting Ryou following a woman to the desk again.   
"Marik, I can't. It's a nice offer and all, but I shouldn't." His palms began to sweat. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Wait! Don't go yet, gimme a sec." and he reached out his hand. "Can I see your phone?"

"What?"

He groaned. "Okay, fine. May I see your phone?"

Bakura fumbled through his pocket as quickly as he could, using one hand to roam while his other held his coffee cup that he was on the brink of squeezing. Finally he held it out for him, post unlocking it by fingerprint.   
"Steal it, and this coffee goes up your ass."

"Wow, okay. That's the most creative threat I've ever heard." But he took it and scrolled through to make a new contact, taking his sweet little time.

"Could you pick up the bloody pace?!"

"Drink your coffee, maybe you'll pick up a better attitude."  
He finally finished punching in the numbers, and then he gave it back— well, he said "done", and then Bakura snatched it back from his hands.

He was ready to make another snarky remark, but he looked down and bit his lip. Marik's number was available now, making his insides feel all tingly.

Marik's smile seemed to make itself noticeable, even when Bakura wasn't even looking at him. "Since you seem very anti-lunch, you can call me and we could meet up. Maybe get like, breakfast. Or brunch. I could get you a bagel or something."

Bakura couldn't stop staring down at his screen. He knew he needed to get away fast, possibly back inside as long as Ryou wouldn't notice, but he just felt frozen in his spot. This...is this for real?

When he finally looked up, all he managed to say was, "You do realize that we're still strangers to each other?"

Marik crossed his arms. "I think we can fix that."

Bakura just scoffed, although, he was grinning. This intriguing little bitch was something else.

But he waved him off quickly, not turning around again before he did a sort of half jog to get back inside. It was rude and abrupt, he'll admit, but it was necessary.

He walked back inside to see Ryou looking down at a piece of paper. Bakura began to ramble an excuse. "I just felt that hot coffee is better out in cold air, you know?"

But he hadn't listened to a single word. Ryou had been grinning from ear to ear. "I got it." He told Bakura, almost daring to take a step forward and tightly squeeze him.

"Got what?"

"The job!" He giggled, a bit too happy to see that Bakura was a little dozy. "My first shift starts tomorrow! I'll only be sorting and carting stuff around, but it's a start!"

Bakura smiled for him, although he kept glancing out, watching Marik hop onto his bike and drive away.

His phone felt heavier, now, like he'd downloaded porn and was trying to hide it from Mum. He would need to be careful, if he wanted to text or call him, it would have to be while Ryou was gone. Now that he had a job, it'd be easier to—

Listen to yourself! He scolded. A part of him still had some sort of morals to put in place. You are many things; a thief, a sexy bitch, a bit of a mess, and even a horny bastard. But you are not a cheater. Cheating? That's low. Even for you.

When he tuned back in, he realized that Ryou was going on and on and he'd missed several chunks of it.

"...only a part time job, but it doesn't matter all that much to me! If you think about it, one half of my day is spent surrounded by books." He looked at Bakura, a twinkle in his eyes accompanied his smile. "And my other half is with you."

Bakura felt like the shittiest person on the planet, but he smiled for him. "That's very sweet of you to say."

He blushed. "I do my best." Then he opened the door for him on the way out. "Now, off to lunch?"


End file.
